


All Laced Up

by Elphen



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, John in command, Lace, M/M, Rimming, Seductive Sherlock, Sherlock in Lingerie, Top John, lace full body suit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-10-25
Packaged: 2018-08-27 00:13:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8379928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elphen/pseuds/Elphen
Summary: John and Sherlock are enjoying a perfectly healthy, full relationship. Sherlock couldn't ask for anything more, so he finds himself puzzled as to why he's browsing the internet for a full body lace body suit for himself. Once John sees him in the one he buys, though, he can't complain. Quite the opposite.
Basically, smut. Smut inspired by amazing art by willowgrowcreates





	

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this beautiful drawing by willowgrovecreates on tumblr here - https://willowgrovecreates.tumblr.com/post/151443502672/sherlock-clad-in-lace-as-in-this-is-how-john - and, despite actually writing on other stories at the time, suddenly I was working on this instead. Not that I'm complaining, it was fun to write.  
> It *is* my first time writing pure smut, though, and smut that isn't Omegaverse. It has, however, been betaed by a lovely friend, so any remaining mistakes are mine :D

It was ridiculous, it really was.

They enjoyed a perfectly normal, healthy relationship. Well, normal was perhaps not quite the right for them, apart or together. Not when one was a certified genius consulting detective with little time for the tedium of other people and the other was a doctor and former army surgeon with an unhealthy love for danger.

But what they had was definitely what they both wanted. Granted, it had taken them far too long to get where he had wanted them to be since first he’d been introduced to the at first glance rather unassuming doctor, but the important thing was that they had gotten there.

Surprisingly, given his wishes, it had not been Sherlock who had taken the first step towards them becoming more than friends and flatmates. Instead it had been John, unassuming, complicated, wonderful John, who one evening, while Sherlock had been making a considerably harsh and lengthy rant on the idiocy of something or other, had gotten up from his chair, walked over to loom over the brunette sitting in his own chair.

Sherlock hadn’t really noticed, not until there was suddenly an unexpected weight in his lap. Then he’d looked up in time to see his friend smiling down at him, just before his face was grabbed and lips pressed again his own. What followed after that was a snog that Sherlock had saved in a special place in his Mind Palace.

Afterwards, there was of course a lengthy talk about what ought to happen next and quite a lot more kissing and other, far more energetic things.

Bottom line was that since then, several months ago, they had had the same relationship as before, but with some extremely wonderful additions. Like the fact that Sherlock was allowed to put his hand on the small of the doctor’s back when they were walking to and from somewhere or that John would sometimes find room for himself somehow on the sofa beside the lanky man when he was lying there, thinking.

To top it off, the bedroom was anything but stale, either. It did not happen every day, whatever the people around them thought, but it was a close enough thing, really, and Sherlock had found that as long as it was with John, sex was something to be enjoyed and basked in. He was even often the instigator of their lovemaking.

That thought brought him back to his current situation. If there wasn’t any real problem with their relationship, apart from the usual that they ran into, and the bedroom was not in any way in need of spicing up, then why was he spending a morning browsing the internet for something to titillate his partner?

To be fair, he was bored; there hadn’t been in case in several days, John had been busy with shifts because of a colleague who needed a few days’ leave, and none of the experiments that he had going sparked any sort of interest in him. But to go from being bored to looking through lingerie was quite a leap nevertheless, even for him.

He was just about to shove the computer away in disgust with himself when he spotted something that peaked his curiosity and interest.

It was a body stocking. But it wasn’t just any old body stocking. It was a full-body one, done in the most intricately made black lace and it fit the model like a glove. It came off as fairly modest and incredibly indecent at the same time and he only realized he was staring when he blinked and his eyes actually stung from lack of moisture.

John would like this. One wouldn’t know it from looking at him and his own attire, but he’d told Sherlock more than once that he quite liked the fit of the consulting detective’s trousers and shirts. He liked things of quality and he liked a snug fit, as long as he wasn’t the one to wear it.

Oh, yes, John would definitely like the tightness of such a garment, the sheerness that managed to leave something for the imagination still. As Sherlock imagined John’s expression and the feel of the lace on his own body, his _entire_ body, he felt himself begin to harden in his pyjamas and rather quickly at that.

There was only one tiny little problem; the model was female. Quite decidedly so, looking at the curves of her. Not that there was a problem in that, as such, but he most definitely did not have the figure that she did. Even if he found a version suited for height and a straighter figure, the deep cut at the front made it clear that it was not meant for him to wear. It would look as ludicrous as if he tried to fit into a women’s thong or a baby-doll with wires and actual cups.

Now quite determined, but firmly ignoring the hardness between his legs, he threw his energy into finding a male version of it. There had to be _something_.

An hour later found him up and pacing around the living room. It couldn’t be that difficult. He was a genius, how could a simple thing like that elude him?

He knew it had to exist. If it existed for one gender, he’d learned it was a fair assumption it would exist for everyone else as well. Even as diverse as people’s sexual quirks could be, there would be quite the overlap, nevertheless.

Yet all his various searches through the internet came up with was full body suits for men of the PVC or leather variety and while that might be an interesting avenue to explore at a later date, it wasn’t what he wanted right then. Moreover, when and if that happened, he rather fancied having John in leather instead, preferably deep brown with lace up sides or something similar.

He could of course just abandon the idea. It wasn’t as though he _needed_ it. Their sex life was quite fulfilling as it was, there was no need to spice it up just yet. So he threw himself into a new experiment, hoping to forget the entire, absurd idea.

But yet, as the day turned to evening and John came home, with an apologetic smile and his fingers curled around a plastic bag full of takeaway goodness, he found that a small part of his brain still continued to work on the problem.

By the time John had kissed him goodnight and gone to bed, leaving Sherlock sprawled on the sofa once more, he had gotten a new idea, which he wasn’t certain it was a good idea to try.

His hands had found his phone and fingers now hovered over the buttons, hesitating in writing a text and sending it.

Would it be a good idea to send the text? After all, he knew it would be traced by his ever so interfering brother and it might not yet be a good idea for him to have an inkling that she was alive.

On the other hand, it was more than likely that Mycroft knew about her already and so there wouldn’t really be any danger in contacting her.

His fingers were pressing keys and hitting sent before he was fully aware of it.

The reply came surprisingly quickly.

_My, my, Sherlock. What a lovely mental image. The dear Doctor Watson seems to have woken quite the little minx in you. Well done, him._

_Can you help or can you not? SH_

_Of course. I’m flattered that you ask._

After that a few instructions ticked in. She advised against buying anything off the rack, purely due to quality of the lacework and the fit of the garment. Instead she recommended ordering from a specialized tailor that was apparently able to turn out quite a good quality product fairly quickly.

He was not entirely convinced until she sent him a photo of one of the pieces they’d done for her. Then he scurried to place an order with them, with all the details that he wanted. He only just remembered to put in a mention of them being recommended.

After he had pressed send, he sank back into the sofa and exhaled a shaky breath. It was not cheap, but he rarely spent much of his share of the money they got from private clients, so he had a bit left over and why not spend it on something nice for the both of them?

Now all that was left was to wait. He did not deal well with waiting, at all.

Two instances of vibrations from the phone on top of each other made him look down. One was the confirmation of his placed order, and not an automated one at that, and the other was another text from Irene.

_I expect to at least get a photo of you showing it off, Mr. Holmes._

_And give you blackmail material on me? I think not. SH_

_Would I ever?_

_If you didn’t, I’d be worried. SH_

_You, worry?_ Even through text, her incredulity and amusement was clear. _What has the darling doctor wrought on you?_

_Nothing but good. SH_

_The horror._

_…Thank you. SH_

_You are welcome. Anytime._

He stopped texting and rested the phone again his chest. Then he got up and crept into the bedroom, where John was soundly asleep, leg kicking in an agitated manner. Probably a nightmare.

Sherlock slid into bed behind him, long limbs curling around the stockier figure, face nuzzling into the crook of the doctor’s neck, humming softly. The hum turned to a pleased chuckle when he felt the body he was holding slowly relax into the hold, tension leaking out of tired muscles.

He fell asleep wrapped around his partner, a feeling of accomplishment and anticipation in the pit of his belly.

 

* * *

 

 

There was nothing left to do after that other than wait. He considered asking for progress reports, but realized immediately that all it would do was run the risk of his order being put on the backburner.

Luckily for him, a client called on them with a case. It was hardly an interesting case, ranking a mere five, but with John still busy at work and his experiments not interesting him, he decided to take it in order to have something to do.

It turned a bit more interesting along the way and so it managed to occupy a whole two days. During it, he did spare a thought or two to the worry that the package might arrive while he wasn’t home and John would be the one to receive it. He wouldn’t open it, of course, but he might just keep needling Sherlock about what it was and thereby spoil the surprise.

To his very great relief, the doorbell rang the day after he solved the case and he was lying supine on the sofa, resting. He didn’t move until Mrs. Hudson was shouting at him that if he was going to have personal things delivered, he could open the door himself next time.

He then came down the stairs fairly quickly, grabbed the package from her with a mumbled ‘yes, of course, next time’ and hurried back upstairs. Only when he was safely back inside their flat and had locked the door to keep their landlady from getting unnecessarily nosy, he practically tore into the package, more eager to see the contents than he would admit to.

What emerged when he reasonably gently pulled at it was quite something and precisely what he’d been trying to find.

It was full body, of course, and made of a mesh-like lace that gave just enough flexibility in the fabric for him to actually get It on without tearing anything. The pattern was understated but elegant, with swirls in the shape of an S running throughout. Two swirls on the chest would curl around the nipples, partially obscuring them, yet leaving them with just enough on display to titillate. A high neck put emphasis on the length of his throat.

Working his way along in examination, he saw that both sleeves and legs were not only snug, they ended in a triangle that extended over the hand and foot, secured by a ring around the middle finger or toe. The tightness and the fact that it was truly full body gave it a sinuous feel that would fit extremely well with his figure and was very much to his liking.

When he turned it over to inspect the back, he was in for something of a surprise. The majority of it resembled the front, but when it came to the rump...there was none.

That wasn’t quite true, but a good part of it was missing. The hole that had been made was rimmed with lace edging and in the shape of a heart. A strand of lace looped across the middle of it, as well.

It was not a thing that he had in any way specified and he suspected that Irene might have had a hand in that, but he could not honestly say that he minded. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Licking his lips in anticipation, he contemplated when he should put it on for John to see. He wanted to put it on there and then and just wait for the look on his partner’s face when he came back home to be met with something like that.

On the other hand, John was pulling a tedious double shift that day. If he came home in a bad mood or even just tired and worn out, he wouldn’t necessarily be amenable to much bedroom fun, much less anything out of the ordinary.

Trying to do it while they had both been home was not a viable option either, for several reasons, chief among them John being his caring self and popping in to check up on him at an inopportune moment. It would hardly be that enticing to be found rolling the legs up.

But all that it took to make work was a bit of careful ingenuity or, in other words, quite an easy task.

 

* * *

 

 

He heard the front door open and shifted a bit on his seat. It wasn’t in its usual place, but he had the definite feeling that it was going to work.

“Sherlock, are you there?” he heard John call. “Great, bloody git has forgotten to turn the lights on in the house. Can’t see anything – oi, if I fall over your lazy arse, I’m blaming you.”

Interestingly, though, he did not seem to turn any lights on himself. Instead he could be heard picking his way by memory, it seemed, lured by the one light that he’d turned on in the bedroom. The muttered words from the blonde slowly tapered off.

When the door to the bedroom opened, it was slow and, if Sherlock was any judge at all, filled with quite an anticipatory air.

“Sherlock?” The tone was ever so slightly hesitant, but also rather optimistic.

The brunette didn’t answer verbally besides a vague hum of confirmation. Instead he turned his head in the direction of the door, which resulted in his chin resting slightly on his collarbone as he looked over his shoulder. One foot was wrapped around a leg of the stool he was sitting on while the other was braced against the surface of the seat, the leg consequently drawn up.

He knew the exact moment that John spotted him and, more importantly, what exactly he was wearing; before his eyes saw anything, it was betrayed by the small, but nevertheless sharp intake of breath. Still he didn’t say anything, just continued to regard John with lidded eyes and the ghost of a smile on his lips.

The blonde moved slowly towards him, clearly taking in the view as his breathing changed, becoming gradually raspier.

“Fuck, Sherlock…I had no…where did this come from all of a sudden?”

Sherlock still didn’t say anything, just smiled more broadly and stretched as best he could, letting John see his muscles move under the lace and feel it slide sensuously over his own skin, sending a small shudder through him.

Next thing he knew, he was almost toppled from the stool by his partner suddenly pressing up against him from behind. Strong, calloused hands grabbed at him, the rough and soft texture of them feeling wonderfully different with the lace in the way, and a warm mouth descended upon his neck. More interesting, however, was the burgeoning erection pressing firmly against his arse through layers of clothes.

“John…” he moaned softly and pushed back against the cock, letting it slip to a position between his buttocks, then gasped as he received a bite in response. He shifted as his own growing erection started to press against fabric that might have flexibility, but not quite enough.

John noticed. And he seemed to approve very much.

“On the bed,” he growled. “ _Now.”_

The commanding tone of voice was not only effective; it sent shivers down Sherlock’s spine and made his groin throb. He was on the bed before he knew it.

In the meantime, John had walked over to switch the overhead light on, so that his view would be illuminated by more than just the bedside lamp. The walk back was much slower, as he both took the time to shed some of his clothing and to appreciate the view some more.

“Just look at you,” he marvelled. “Look at you. All that lovely skin covered in lace – absolutely gorgeous. God, I could just stand here and drink you in forever.”

“John…” This time the moan was more pleading than before. The heat smouldering in blue eyes was getting to Sherlock, who was already sensitive from sliding the suit on as well as the anticipation, and he didn’t want to be ogled without being touched. His only comfort was the slight friction the sheets gave in addition to the lace.

It seemed like the blonde wasn’t to be rushed, however.

Slowly he made his way onto the bed, the clink of metal and the rustle of fabric beforehand indicating that he had shed his trousers. As the bed dipped, Sherlock felt a hand on the back of his thigh, pressing down slightly. He tried his best to be obedient and not move, difficult as that was.

It wasn’t made any easier when the hand slid lower on his leg and was then joined by the other hand. He arched into the touch as the hands ever so slowly made their way back up a leg each, their glide just firm enough to be felt while still being light.

That peculiar feeling of the lace hindering some sensation while still being thin enough for him to get far more than he would have gotten with clothes on was setting his skin on fire.

When the hands finally reached his rump, he groaned as they gripped onto a cheek each, the blunt fingernails digging deliciously into his flesh. The groan turned into a startled moan as two fingers slid from the lace-covered part onto the completely bare area. To have an area that had always been an erogenous zone for him touched directly when his skin felt sensitive already with a _barrier…_ it was quite frankly a wonder that he didn’t buck violently into John.

The blonde groaned throatily himself at the reaction. “Christ, what you do to me, Sherlock. That arse so tightly squeezed in that outfit, just begging to me…fucking hell, you have no idea…”

“Then show me!” the consulting detective growled, trying to sound demanding.

He received a light slap to his buttock for that, which only turned him on more.

“On your hands and knees,” John commanded and Sherlock once again obeyed.

He was rewarded for his compliance; as soon as he was in position, the doctor pulled his hand back from where he had been reaching, dropping the lube onto the mattress, and then his hands were back. Better than that, though, was the wet sensation trailing down what was available of the line of his buttocks.

A bit lost in sensation as Sherlock was, it took him a moment to realize that it wasn’t fingers coated in lube trailing down his crack, but the tip of John’s tongue. He moaned again, both from the electric feel of it and the anticipation of what was, hopefully, just about to happen.

His suspicions were confirmed when the tongue pressed against his entrance, not hard or forceful, but just enough to make the muscle flutter and his cock twitch hard in its confines.

A hand sliding gently down his leg was the nonverbal encouragement to relax. He made an effort, only to shudder as the tongue pressed inside in small, pointed strokes that made him relax and sent waves of sensation through him at the same time.

“John…mmmh…yes…please…”

At some point the tongue was replaced by two fingers well coated in lube, but Sherlock couldn’t find it in him to mind, especially not when the mouth then instead started to plant kiss all the way around the heart shaped border in time with the scissoring motion the fingers were doing inside.

By the time John was pumping three fingers in and out of him, Sherlock was a trembling mess barely able to keep himself upright.

“God, John, would you just fuck me already? I need you – !” The last word turned to a keen as John pressed hard against his prostate. Pale eyes glared at the doctor. “John!”

“Haste makes waste.”

“I don’t _care_ , I _need_ you and I need you _now_.”

“Then turn over for me. I want to see your face when I fuck you.”

It was an effort to get on his back without collapsing. When he managed it, he was also able to see John far better than before and what he saw made him swallow.

His partner always looked good, in his book, in when clad in his comfy jeans, his frumpy button-downs and his homely jumpers. Naked, however, was a whole different story.

When naked, you could see the strength and power he hid beneath his clothes, in the compact form, the muscles and the scars and marks of his life. It drew Sherlock in, like a moth to a flame.

The fact that John was kneeling, the muscles in his legs showing in an appealing manner, did not detract in the slightest. Nor did the heavy-lidded eyes with the dilated pupils nor the erect cock standing proud and red between his legs. Sherlock unconsciously licked his lips.

John saw the gesture and smirked. When he looked down the long, lithe body, he was licking his lips himself, though. The condom was opened and rolled on as fast as his hands would allow.

Slowly he moved forward, still on his knees, grabbing onto the legs of the brunette as he moved. As he aligned himself, he let his hands glide across those legs once more.

Sherlock moaned slightly. He didn’t press down, as he knew John wouldn’t appreciate it and most definitely wouldn’t be rushed. So instead he decided to wrap his legs around the waist of his partner, loosely so that he appeared enthusiastic without being in any way pushy or demanding.

It was very difficult to keep to that when he could finally feel the head start to press into his loosened passage, parting him deep inside as it slid in slowly, but steadily, filling him up.

The brunette heard someone groan throatily when the blonde was fully seated, but it could have been either of them or even both, he really couldn’t tell.

It was definitely John who spoke next, though. “Bloody hell,” he groaned. “The lace…your cheeks are pressing…and yet wet and loose…oh, god, it feels _good_.”

Sherlock could only agree. The fact that the body suit didn’t allow enough flexibility for his buttocks to move meant that everything was pressed together in a way that created the most wonderful friction on top of all the other sensations running through him. He voiced his agreement by moaning loudly.

“Move, please, John. I need you to fuck me.”

John grinned and complied, pulling out a little before thrusting back in. He kept the movements small and slow at first to gauge just what was possible in their current position. When Sherlock locked his legs more firmly around his hips, the blonde got the message and started to speed up.

“God, yes…yes…more, John…more!” Every nerve ending was on fire in Sherlock’s body, not just from the continued press of his lover’s cock deep inside of him, but from the way the lace rubbed over every sensitive area of his body with every slam of John’s hip, moving him up and down the sheets.

He only became aware that he was panting shallowly when his breath was thrown back by the face in front of his. Then he was kissed, lips pressing hard and demanding against his. Moaning, he parted his lips willingly and was rewarded by his mouth being virtually plundered.

His hands came up to grab at broad shoulders, nails digging into flesh as he was pounded into. When one calloused hand moved from where it was braced against the mattress to brush fingers against his nipples, which were already pebbled nubs, he had to break the kiss in order to gasp brokenly.

“Touch,” he pleaded, voice breathy and unsteady and his brain unable to form coherent sentences or even longer words.

Normally, he would have already been touching his own erection at that point, hand going in the same tempo that John set. This time, though, the lace had given him plenty of friction as it was without him having to touch himself, his cock pressing so hard against the fabric that it was a wonder it hadn’t already torn. He wasn’t able to come untouched, though.

“Please...I’m so…just…bit more, please.”

Bringing himself off wasn’t an option; he was so keyed up by that point that whatever small part of his rational brain was still operational feared that he’d dig his nails in or something equally utterly daft.

Luckily for him, John knew what he meant. The hand moved from his chest down to his heavy, throbbing member. There it hovered for a moment and at the same time, the doctor’s hips stilled for a moment, too.

_“John_!” Sherlock shouted in frustration. To stop when he was _that close._

John waited until he had eye contact. Then he smiled, a slow smile that was lust, danger and deep love all rolled into one.

Before the brunette had time to properly process the expression, the hovering hand descended. As it simultaneously gripped and stroked his cock through the fabric, John’s hips slammed back in at a slightly different angle, hitting his prostate dead on.

That was all it took. That dual stimulation was more than enough to send him over the edge into a searing orgasm that left him shaking and shuddering for what felt like forever. He was vaguely aware that someone was shouting, but he wouldn’t be able to say who.

John’s climax he was a bit more aware of, though that was mostly because of the feeling of seed spilling into the condom and the fact that the man slumped against him afterwards. Otherwise everything was mostly white noise and a deeply pleasurable haze.

They lay there for what felt like a very long time, but was more likely only a few minutes. Then John groaned gently and rolled off, landing on his back beside his partner. He was breathing heavily, but shakily.

“That was…I don’t even know what that was,” the blonde managed to say after another while had passed and he had gotten his breath back to something approaching normal. “I’m not complaining, mind, not at all, because bloody _hell,_ that was _good.”_

He turned himself onto his side and draped an arm and a leg over the person he loved so much. Sherlock shifted into the hold. “All I’m saying is, that seemed a bit left field. What brought it on all of a sudden?”

“Boredom.”

“What, you kept this,” he let his index finger trace the black swirls, “lying around for the time when you felt that our sex life was getting boring?” There didn’t seem to be any anger in that question, just bemused puzzlement. _Oh, John._ Sherlock smiled from the bottom of his heart.

“Of course not. Boredom merely lead to research, which eventually lead to ordering this.”

“Ordering? Sounds expensive. Do I want to know how much it cost us?”

“Does it matter?”

John chuckled at the blasé question. “Given how much I love you in it, no, I guess not.” He paused for a moment, eyes roaming across the thin body beside him. “There’s just one slight problem.”

“And what would that be?” Sherlock asked around a small yawn.

It had been an interesting discovery to find out that sex would make him lethargic and sleepy without fail. The fact that John was always there with him afterwards, warm and soft and comforting in a way that the younger Holmes had not been aware that he craved before he experienced it, was doubtless a very major factor.

The finger still tracing the patterns dipped down and was suddenly poking through the material and touching some of the skin of the brunette.

“Just the minor thing that you’ve managed to actually tear it slightly here.” Indeed, the mesh was not quite as dense as it had been around the groin area.

Sherlock tilted his head so they were looking at each other. “Whose fault is that, then?”

“Certainly not mine. Even if it was, I couldn’t darn it.”

“So I should just throw it out?” That wasn’t going to happen, but he didn’t need to know that just yet.

“Hell, no. There’s plenty more fantasies I want to try out with this one.”

“Good thing I learned to darn, then.”

“Why on earth did you pick that skill up?”

Sherlock rolled over cover John, then gave him a long, loving kiss. “I’ll tell you if you enlighten me on what exactly those fantasies were.”

The blonde grinned, then reached down to fondle the lace-covered arse. “I think that could be arranged very easily.”

 

The End

* * *

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Well, how's that for first time pure smut? Not too bad, is it? Even if there was quite a bit of set-up, but you know me by now ;)
> 
> Feedback is loved and treasured


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